


Breaking Point

by lawrencetheshark



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Albino Karkat, Developing Relationship, Humanstuck, M/M, Mild descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawrencetheshark/pseuds/lawrencetheshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and you've never wanted someone so badly.</p>
<p>This is basically just "Misguided" from Dave's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You don't HAVE to read Misguided as well but people have said reading them both helps them understand some things better so why not give it a shot?

You watched him move in one day at your fencing class. Short, snowy hair, tinted glasses, pale skin…colorless eyes. He was slightly chubby in the face, wearing a large black sweater and gray skinny jeans. He had a sarcastic and angry look on his face whenever he interacted with the man that had been living in that house for years. And you knew: he was the new student registered at your high school.

You see him around campus all the time. He usually stares at the ground, his glasses not auto-tinting in the fluorescent lighting. Sometimes he has a bandage and bruises on his face, arm, a finger, or something. You guess he's probably just really clumsy and gets hurt a lot, but honestly you wouldn't put it past that guy he lives with to be an abusive foster dad.

He glares at you whenever he sees you. You've never spoken a word to that guy, but whenever he sees you he glares. Whenever you pass him or move near him he shrinks away. He seems generally irritated by your presence, and you can't understand why. He rolls a bruised eye, or mocks you with fractured hands, and you cringe. It has to be painful, yet he does it anyway. That's dedication. He must really hate you.

That doesn't stop you from wanting to talk to him. You know, in the coolest kind of way, it's not like you want him to like you or anything. You just think getting his perspective on some things would be cool, you know? Well, that's bullshit, actually, you want to be his friend pretty badly, somewhere deep inside of you, but that's under layer after layer of apathy and layer after layer of the Strider Cool. And your sunglasses. Those are necessary things to point out. Besides, you have plenty of friends already, and they never leave you alone.

Despite all that, you want to know Karkat Vantas.

Two of your buddies know more about him than you do, and you don't know how that's possible. You never see them together. You did notice, however, that they disappear sometimes during the day when you used to hang all the time. It kind of makes you a little bit upset, because these are guys you've managed to not chase away. You've somehow managed to create a whole reputation revolving around your relationship with these two huge dunderheads. They respect you, and after they began to, others began to, and now people actually think you're worth something. Everybody knows coolkid Dave Strider.

It makes you bitter to the bone when they just up and disappear on you like that, because you hate being left to deal with people on your own.

It isn't exactly a new thing for you, getting attention, but honestly, a lot of the time you just want to be left the fuck alone, so you come off as a man of few words. You try to be polite, without destroying your cool, but you don't speak much to people you don't want to know. And you don't want to know many people. Which is why it's one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of your life when you decide to approach Karkat Vantas.

"What the everloving fuck, Strider!" he gasps, clutching his chest.

You blink behind your shades; you hadn't realized a simple "hey" would make him jump so badly. "Sup, Vantas."

"What do you want!"

You can see his eyes shifting about, looking for something, while also trying to avoid direct eye contact with the lights above you. You keep your face as blank as you possibly can (which is pretty fucking blank since you're been practicing and perfecting this for years).

You shrug, still watching his eyes, trying not to be too intense about it. And then you realized, you totally have no idea what to say. Um…there's a crab on his sweater. Good, sea creatures, you can work with that.

His expression becomes a glare after one honestly terrible sentence filled with gross fish puns. "I'm a Cancer."

You cock an eyebrow. "I'm a Sagittarius," you reply. "Is that how you usually make friends? Talking about your astrological signs? Guess it's not the most unconventional way to make friends I've seen but I can say it's up there at the top, kind of like a tightrope walker at—"

"God damn, do you ever shut up?" He cuts you off with an exasperated hiss, slinging his bag over his thin shoulder. You see the tiniest movement in his body—years of strifing with Bro have made you acutely aware of these things—but he stays put, and looks exasperated by that, too.

"Not really," you reply to a question that was likely meant to be rhetorical. "Can't keep a music man from playing his part now can you."

He just sort of…stares at you. You think maybe he's calculating something, you're not sure. All you know is, you don't want him to run away. You think maybe he wouldn't, if anybody did, but he doesn't know what you're hiding, and he doesn't look like he likes you that much. In fact, you think you see a little bit of terror in his eyes, and that is not good at all.

After a bit he snorts and turns on his heel. You follow him, noting how heads turn as people watch the two of you walking together. Well, you aren't really walking together, he's sort of trying to avoid you. You wonder what you ever did to get this kind of negative attention from him. You suspect that as you follow him he's probably thinking profane things and stereotyping you extremely hardcore.  
Your name is Dave Strider, and you will never have Karkat Vantas.


	2. Chapter 2

Time flies a little more than you're used to. No, fuck that, suddenly it doesn't feel like you have enough time. You find yourself trying to discreetly spend as much time with Karkat as you possibly can. You follow him to the coffee shop, the library, the clothing store, even the place he gets those nifty transitioning glasses he wears. You two talk a lot—you because you're so nervous around him but you talk a lot anyway so it isn't a nervous tick (Striders don't get nervous), him because you make him. You say what you know will get him to react, because that is what you do. That is the Strider way. Or is it? You have no idea.

Your cool is being tested in unimaginable ways, and this is a huge problem. Your bro isn't up for strifing much these days, and your fencing classes don't keep you on your toes like you wish they would. Fencing just isn't sword fighting.

Then again, sometimes, there's only one form of sword fighting on your mind, and it sure as hell ain't something you want to do in public.

As this thought crosses your mind you spot Karkat waiting in the line at a coffee shop. He looks really confused, like he just had a revelation that should have been obvious from the start. You find yourself reflecting on what you just realized, as well, thinking that it isn't even a problem that you're totally okay with that.

It just sucks that you thought of that now, in public, with him nearby.

You start towards him, and you see him look your way. The look on his face goes from generally grumpy to just plain pissed as he turns his attention back to in front of him. If you weren't a Strider you would have cracked the biggest smile when you saw him start messing around with his hair.

"What the fuck do you want, Strider," he asks you in that same old angry tone.

You stop, shooting a look at the guy in front of Karkat. It's like he's never heard the word fuck before or something. "Just wanted to come say hey to my favorite bro," you lie, though it isn't totally a lie.

He snorts. "Ha! Best bro, what a laugh. Go pester some other undesirable for a change, stupid mutt, I'm sick of you following me around all the damn time."

You can't help but let out a loud guffaw at his choice of words. "Did you just call me a mutt? Wow, Karkitty, I had no idea."

"F-fuck you!" he screams. Every eye in the coffee shop turns on him, and he notices, and you've never seen him make himself so small, tucking his chin into his sweater like that. "I didn't mean it that way, you dicklicking dunderfuck." He turns away from you and crosses his arms, his red face nose-deep in his turtleneck. You can almost see him mentally kicking himself for just about everything he just said.

You do take the time to step back and admire the treasure he's got.

And by treasure, you mean booty. What an ass.

So you just stand there. You stay beside him as he makes his way to the counter and orders, all the while talking about slang. You know a good bit about slang and how slang started, seeing as you're a rapper and well you don't have a lot to do at home these days. You can hear him grumbling, and sometimes you catch words that make you think he really would tell you to go fuck yourself if he wanted to. The reason he doesn't is beyond you.

After he receives his order the two of you walk to a bench in the park. You notice again that he's wearing a sweater, and you feel compelled to say, "It's the middle of Spring, Vantas. You look like you're from the Amazon and you're all bundled up because 63 is cold compared to down there. You're like a tropical Eskimo man. And I guess that makes me your sled team. Considering I'm a dog and all. Woof."

"Mush," he grunts.

You feel a grin split across your face. He's never really responded to your joking around like that ever before. It feels like it's your fucking birthday or something. He just stares at you, and you like to think he's looking at your eyes, but you know he's looking at your mouth, and that's probably because you don't usually smile. Ever. But somehow, he brings it out of you. It's really weird.

Until the next moment when he really is looking in your eyes, and electricity runs through you. You can see his very clearly, since his glasses are only slightly tinted because of the overcast sky. All too soon, though, he takes that view away, pushes his glasses back up firmly, and takes another sip of his coffee.

Two hours later you watch him walk into his home, a record of yours in hand and the slightest flush in his cheeks. You really hope that he listens to that record. It contains one of your cheesiest and most ironic yet most heartfelt raps…no, songs, it is a song, not a rap. You actually sang that fucker a song. He better be fucking grateful.

Despite being so very cool, you can feel your heart in your throat as you walk up the stairs to your apartment. You hope to God that he listens to it, so you don't have to say all that shit out loud, but you also hope he doesn't, in case that drives him off. Of course, the thought of driving him off makes your eyebrow twitch in the place they would knit together if you hadn't been stone-faced, and the minute you walk inside you flashstep to your mixing studio.

You don't say a single word to your bro.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't listen to the record.

You can just tell. His attitude towards you hasn't changed. He's still stubborn and he's still always pissed off and you still can't figure out why. You know he's probably had to deal with a whole lot of shit just because of his albinism and that probably makes him wary, especially with your ever-present social status looking him in the face all the time. Yeah, you've noticed. People hang around you like flies on dead things. Any moment you have to spend with just him is actually kind of a precious moment. You aren't one for sappy sentiment, but that's a thing that you just thought, right after the words "I love that guy."

It's a shame you can't tell him that.

Despite all that, you still keep your cool. Years and years of being a Strider and being trained in the Strider way make sure of that. It does help you out a bunch at your turntables, though, and you find yourself making some of the greatest tunes you've made to date; that date being a month after you gave him that record, while simultaneously being the date he decides to be even more of an angry, brooding elf.

"Had a sick date with my turntables last night," you say, plopping down next to him at the table the two of you sit at in the mornings.

"Whatever," he grumbles in that tone you're so used to.

"Aw, come on, Karkitty, you know you want to hear it!" you tease. "Those tables and I, man, we really hit it off this time. Banged out tunes all night, if you know what I mean. Got so sick. The sick ones are the best ones, man, makin all them deviant sounds and shit."

"Strider, I do not give one single fuck about your fucked up love affair with those things," he snaps, though it lacks in effort. "And I don't care about your stupid-ass beats. And DON'T call me Karkitty, you ABSOLUTE blockhead."

"Shit, Vantas," you huff, trying to sound hurt. What could be wrong today? "Just wanted someone to appreciate my tunage."

"Everyone loves your tunage, Dave," he sighs, standing. "Everyone loves you, you're a perfect little shit, so stop trying to drag me in with the rest of them."

Behind your shades, you blink, bewildered. Is that what he's upset about? "Whoa, hey!" you protest, getting up to run after him. He doesn't turn around, but you begin to walk in stride with him, trying to get him to look at you. "What's wrong with you today, Vantas?"

"Nothing!" he snaps, glaring at you. The two of you stop where you are; you don't think you've ever seen him so angry.

"Bullshit," you spit back. You don't expect him to talk to you, but you do kind of wish he would at least acknowledge that there was a problem. Unfortunately, the bell rings as you say that, and you kick yourself mentally for not keeping track of the time.

Before he moves a single step, you catch his shoulder, hoping that you can get him to talk. "Vantas."

"Nothing's wrong," he growls, wrenching himself out of your grip.

You call out a request for him to come over to your house later as you watch him run down the hallway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW

It took you nearly an hour to finally get your brother out of the apartment. He kept asking questions, questions you didn't want to answer, especially since you just wanted to find out what that guy in the sweater had against you, and nothing else.

You hear a feeble knock at the door as the time closes in on the twilight hour. You flashstep to the door and open it to reveal a slightly disheveled yet still no less angry Karkat Vantas.

The bass thumps from the speakers in your bedroom as you usher him inside. "We need to talk, Vantas," you say, face stoic and tone just the same. He grumbles in response.

He stops in the center of the living room. "Apple juice?" you offer. He declines with some of the worst language you've heard from him, and that's saying something. You could comment about dissing the AJ, but you think better of it, considering this is a serious talk you two seriously need to have.

"Seriously, Strider, I've got other shit I could be doing," he protests as you sit down on the couch directly in front of him. "I don't need to be here listening to you blab like you do all the fucking time."

You snort. "Karkat. You and I both know you don't have a damn thing to do."

He's silent. Checkmate.

"What is your problem with me, kid? All I've ever fucking done is be a bro to you, bro, I don't think I deserve to be ignored half the time. And don't stand there silently like you do, give me a fucking reason," you add, knowing that if you didn't say it, he'd just glare at you until you gave up.

His eyes snap up from the floor to meet your shades. They are on fire. "Bro? _Bro_? You've been a _bro_ to me, is that what you fucking call it?" he shouts.

You blink, taken aback by his sudden rage. "Call what, man? I—"

"The only reason you've been nice to me, _man_ ," he hisses, "is to make fucking fun of me and I'm fucking sick of it! I could take being pushed around, I can deal with broken bones and bloody lips and bruises every fucking week, but I am sick to shit of people acting like they care! Because nobody cares, Strider. They care about you, sure! Everybody LOVES Dave Strider! Not about me. Not about the albino f-freak Karkat Vantas."

He's in tears by the time he's done yelling, and you are just a little frightened. You had no idea the bullying was that bad; you always thought his father was just a whack job. Similarly, you hadn't noticed anybody really saying anything to him at all, much less to make fun of him, although considering his disease, you knew it must still happen.

You stand and throw your arms around his tense shoulders. You don't care that it isn't cool, he's upset, and by the way he relaxes and clings to you, he's needed this for way longer than you thought.

"Why the hell did you let me stick around, then, if you hate me so much?" you ask softly. He shivers as your breath hits his skin.

"I don't hate you," he grumbles begrudgingly. "I don't hate you, Strider, I—"

As the words leave his mouth you pull back, tugging off your sunglasses. You figure it's time that reality takes the place of your cool façade, especially if it means he won't feel so fucking alone. His eyes meet yours for no more than a fragment of a second and they go wide, but that's all you see before you're kissing him.

He pushes you backwards almost immediately, leaning to look in your downcast eyes, confirm what he saw. "You're…"

You shove your lips against his again, lifting him by the waist into your arms. He wobbles a little bit but finds some sort of balance and throws his arms around your neck, kissing you back as you carry him towards your bedroom.

He gasps as you stumble a little and collapse to the ground, years of training helping you to control yourself and make the landing fluid. You turn down the music and he pulls you back to him, at which time your lips connect with his neck, sucking at the warm, flushed skin there. His fingers tangle in your hair and you smirk against his neck, sighing as he arches into you. The tiny noises he's making urge you on as your fingers explore beneath his shirt and your left thigh rubs against his hot crotch. You move your teeth over his skin, tugging gently and licking to soothe afterwards.

"Shit, Strider," he gasps as you press your hand against the bulge in his pants, rubbing as you slide your fingers up to undo the fasten on his jeans. He's breathing hard into your ear and his hands are trying to find purchase on your back.

That is, until he stopped you, grabbing your wrist and abruptly sitting upright.

"What! What's wrong?" you gasp. The sudden movement startled you, and the look on his face concerns you greatly. At the same time, you're kind of annoyed. You finally have him right where you want him, and you thought for sure that he wanted it, too.

He stands, a string of curses leaving his mouth, working off his shirt as he does. You feel a wave of heat wash over you and look away. You can wait another minute. Meanwhile you strip yourself, removing everything but your boxers before sitting on the edge of your bed. He is tense as he strips completely to skin; your practiced eye tells you that his muscles are strung so tight, and you just want him to relax.

He turns as you're admiring the lines of his body. You flick your eyes up to meet his, and he pauses momentarily, eyes closing as he shakes his head and approaches you. "I just need to know you're serious about this," he grumbles as he straddles your waist.

Immediately your hand is on his hip and the other is around his wrist as he laces his fingers behind your neck. Two sets of very different eyes search each other, each unable to understand what the other was looking for, but whatever it was, one or the other of you figured it out, or maybe the big Fuck It was tossed, but it resulted in you on your back and some of the hottest kisses you'd ever experienced. You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him to you as you grind up against him. He gasps against your lips, and you open yours too, but he recovers quickly and sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling gently.

A moment later he's up on his hands and knees above you. You watch his face as he pants and nibbles his lip and reaches down to pull your boxers down. He needs your help to get them down far enough for his cool fingers to wrap around your length, and when he does, you can't help but close your eyes in pleasure. You never thought that you'd be feeling this from Karkat Vantas, easily the first and only guy you've ever really fallen for.

And he's surprisingly really good at what he's doing. He's hesitant, and a little sloppy, and you're pretty sure most of the experience you feel in his touch comes from things he's done to himself, but it feels really good. You love knowing this little part of him. You love imagining him doing these things to himself.

Then you want him to feel that part of you. You bite your lip and wrap your long fingers around his erection, and he gasps, throwing his head back and collapsing a little bit. A small groan escapes him, though you doubt he realizes it. The noises keep up as you continue stroking him in long, even strokes. Despite clear effort on his part, he can't keep up his rhythm on your dick, but that's okay with you, because you fucking love how his body drops, how his forehead lands on the pillow beside your head, how his hands run over your chest and up to your shoulders, nails digging in. He's panting, and you, you whisper little things to him. "Don't stop," you say, "you're doing great, come on, come on…"

You can't take it anymore. You need to feel him. You arch up and adjust your hand to stroke both of you at once. His moan is loud in your ear, and so needy that you can hear the amount of N's in the noise. Your hips move together in time with your thrusts, and all you can really hear is your own name in your ear, in his lust-stricken voice, and soon, soon you're coming.

Your voice cracks a little as you say his name. You know you've lost every sample of "cool" you could have possibly had at this point, but you don't much care as the most beautiful boy you know falls heavily onto your chest, spent. His pupils are huge under his heavy eyelids when his eyes meet yours. You smile at him and roll to curl up with him beside you.

And that's when it really hits you: Karkat Vantas is yours, at least in this moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also NSFW and honestly I just wrote it for the buttsex

He's still asleep as far as you can tell when you open your eyes. It's still dark, though you don't much care to look at what the time actually is. Your nose is buried in the hair of the boy in your arms, and he still smells like sex. You tighten your arms around his waist slightly as you breathe it in, and he tenses a little bit. Must be awake, you figure, and squeeze him again in greeting.

The messy-haired teen wiggles around a little, but you don't move. You know he's probably feeling some things out. That's how you felt after your first time with someone else, though your first time had been a whole lot…messier.

You feel his heartbeat against your wrist and you know that something's got him spooked. You manage to keep completely calm and still, though, just in case he thinks you're asleep and is planning on bolting as soon as he gets the chance. Which, you hope he doesn't. You finally have him right there in your arms where you've been wanting him this whole time and he's there willingly and you'll be damned if you think you're ever going to let him go now.

Come to think of it, though, you never followed up with him on that record. You know full well he didn't listen to it, but you never confronted him about it, and you never said the words out loud. "I love you." Why was that so fucking hard to say? Three words and a whole fucking sentence, and of the amount of things you actually say, that's the hardest thing you've ever found yourself wanting to say.

Of course, he didn't say it, either. You're pretty sure you know he does, though. The noises he made were genuine. Oh trust yourself, you know when noises are real, and you're damn certain you know the difference between a lusty voice and a loving one. (You've spent more nights than you'd like to admit jerking it in front of your computer.)

With a small sigh, deciding it's too early to be thinking about these things, you lean down and kiss the back of your lover's neck in greeting. He turns to you and you pull back, wiggling your nose as a few of his soft white hairs brush past it. You've got a smile on your face, and when you realize it, you find you don't much care, it feels right.

He rolls completely over towards you, pulling you close. He's stronger than he looks, you think. "You okay, Karkat?" you ask. You're kind of concerned, because well, it's not often that he's quiet, even if he's nervous, which you have no idea if he is or not. The thought passes that you can't read him very well.

Your voice is still a little choked with sleep, and he shivers. "I'm fine," he growls. That's a little bit of a comfort, at least he's still the same angry guy you knew hours ago. Except, now he's kind of staring at you, his eyes searching your face, which you can feel is kind of locked in a blissful expression. Damn you love this boy.

And then, out of nowhere, he just kisses you. You're surprised for a minute, because you didn't really expect that he would initiate such a thing. Once the initial shock is over, however, you kiss him back, fully savoring the wet taste of his mouth and the heat when you inevitably lock tongues. This goes on for a while, your fingers exploring his back and heading up to lace in his hair. He's shifting around a little to get closer to you. Of course, one tug of your hand in his hair happens to coincide with his thigh rubbing against your crotch, and you know for sure that this is going to go places.

He shifts sideways as you roll on top of him, groaning into your mouth as your slow kisses continue. You can't get enough of feeling that long, soft hair beneath your fingertips. He grunts and whimpers as he tries to get his arms around your waist at this angle, with you so close to him. You can feel where your heavy member rests on his hip, and you suppose he's okay with it being there, because he arches up against you, creating just a little bit of teasing friction to really get you going.

You let out a pleasured moan and lean down to his ear. You have a request, and you're fully prepared for the most colorful rejections you've ever witnessed, but you take it delicately anyway, just to be safe. "Can I take you, Karkat?"

He hesitates a little at your request, looking up into your vicious eyes. Years of learning to read people through shades never taught you to do it in this little light, but you don't have to, because you can feel how much he trusts you in the way that he nods his head eagerly in response.

You lick his ear and grind against his hip again, feeling a shiver of pleasure shoot through him. A sigh escapes his lips, barely, as you turn your eyes to where you can only just see what you're doing. Cool fingers meet with the warm softness of his semi-flaccid member, which you slowly, teasingly, stroke up to full hardness. You look back into his eyes, only to see that he's watching what you're doing, and chewing his lip in anticipation for it, too. He whimpers, and you think back to the previous afternoon when you'd heard his squeak for the first time.

Finally you don't think you can take it anymore. You grab the closest bottle of lube (it's actually in the bed, it's been there all night) and begin to squirt some onto your hand. You hear his breathing hitch, which betrays just exactly how nervous he is, but he hasn't told you to stop, so you'll keep going.

"Lift your hips up a little, dude," you breathe, clean hand nudging his thighs further apart.

He does so, but you can hear him mutter under his breath, something about proper terminology. Ordinarily this would have sparked an argument, but not now, not here. He's subconsciously chewing on his lip as you rub your fingers together once more and slowly begin to press one into his entrance.

An anxious moan sputters from between his lips as you penetrate him. You can't help but chuckle as his head falls back against the pillow. Perhaps not an appropriate reaction, but to be honest, you're just as nervous as he is.

"Dammit, Strider," he hisses, "this isn't something to laugh aboAUFGH!" You cut off his protests with the addition of a second finger, and he shoots upward in surprise, nearly knocking your heads together. He throws his arms around you, fingers digging into your back, and another small bout of laughter escapes your lips. "Shut the fuck up, Strider!" he snaps. "Fuck!"

Things fall back into their sensual phase as you continue to slowly work your fingers in and out, spreading and thrusting and rubbing. He's gasping and shaking and holding onto you tightly, and it's all so delicious that it makes you bite your lip just looking at him. In the next instant your lips are pressed to the base of his neck, and his head falls hard against your shoulder. Honestly, you don't think you ever thought you'd be in this position with him. You definitely didn't think you'd be trailing open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck and shoulder and stroking his softening dick to distract him from the third finger making its way inside him.

All sorts of curse words leave his mouth, and he gets really tense, so you start out with shallow thrusts and more kisses to soothe him. His curses, though, eventually grow softer, weaker, and the bites to your shoulder are less from pain and more from pleasure. You know what that means.

"You ready, Karkitty?" you mumble in his ear. You know you are for sure. Your cock is aching a little bit, having not received any attention this entire time.

He wiggles, and it's just about the cutest thing in the world. "Don't call me Karkitty," he whimpers, voice thick with need.

"Sorry," you growl. You pull your fingers from him slowly and lift his thighs, which throws him a little off balance, and he throws his hands back to support himself. You settle between his legs, rolling on a condom and lubing yourself up. You know, safety precautions and such.

And in the next moment, you're pushing inside. You're sure it probably hurts, and the noises he's making confirm that. Oh God, even after all that he's still so tight, and so hot…it's taking all you have to go slowly.

"Dave," he gasps. "Dave…"

"Karkat…" You bite your lip again, eyes closing as you sink deeper. He lays down on his back, which draws you deeper into him, and soon you're as far in as you can go. He's cursing hardcore; it's not like he doesn't do that already, but hearing it like this is different. Better, even.

You stay where you are for a minute, heart pounding, body temperature steadily rising, though you can't tell whether it's because you're blushing or because your dick is currently pulsating inside the heat of your lover. Either way, you wait until he gives you the ok before you start to pull out, only to snap your hips back against him. He yelps and gasps, breathing heavily. You repeat your motions, bending over and resting your elbows on either side of his head. His arms immediately find purchase on your back, nails digging into your flesh in a way that's sure to draw blood, if not leave long, angry lines that will probably be as red as your eyes. You're kind of looking forward to checking it out in the mirror later; this thought and all those before it pass in a matter of milliseconds as you continue to thrust into him, going harsher and deeper with each. Your voice is going hoarse from how roughly you're grunting his name into his ear.

A tense whimper cuts off his shrill murmurs of your name, and the way he tenses tells you he's coming before his seed hits your stomach. One long, low version of the word "fuck" escapes your mouth as you thrust a few more times, coming just a few seconds after him.

The only sound is that of heavy breathing (and a bit of a wet sound) as you pull out and roll off of him. He throws an arm over his forehead, and you stare at him, watching how his body heaves, smiling at the tiny whimpers coming from his throat.

"Fuck, Strider," he huffs. "How…how many times have you…"

You chuckle breathlessly and look up at the ceiling. "You'd think that's the only word you know," you tease.

A small pause echoes between you, then, "Dave. How many times have you…done this?"

A sheepish smile rests on your lips. "I, uh. Once."

"Once?" he repeats incredulously. "You're shitting me, Strider, really?"

"Yeah," you say, turning and giving him a smile that you really hope is sincere before sitting up. "Come on, Karkat, let's get cleaned up."

He tries to sit up, but the way he collapses with a cry of pain makes you think maybe you went a little bit too far with your pounding. "No, Dave," he moans. "I'll clean up later, we've got time."

You sneak a peek at the clock on the table beside the bed as you work the condom off your flaccid member. "Not as much as you think, bro," you laugh. "It's six o'clock."

"It's WHAT?" he screams.

"Well, come on, Vantas, let's get moving!" you urge, walking around the bed and lifting him into your arms. "Shit, you're heavier than I thought!"

"Dammit, you've got too much energy for just finishing off a sexual encounter, Strider," he grumbles as you carry him to the bathroom.

The two of you shower together. You attend to him first, washing his hair and such, but you won't dare let him try to help you with your morning routine, especially since he can hardly stand on his own two feet until you're about ready to turn the water off. You decide to give him some old clothes that nobody will recognize as yours (they turn out to be a lot less baggy than you thought) and you two are out the door just in time to make it to school on time.

"Dave, wait," he says just before you enter the school. You stop and look back at him, shades firmly back in place. You notice a small flash of disappointment behind his own lenses. "I…I love you."

You shoot him the Strider smirk (that you really only use to keep from beaming at him) and nod. "Go home and listen to that record I gave you."

Your name is Dave Strider, and you've got the one thing you've always wanted.


End file.
